


Hunger, Haggling, and Honor: a Yădakk Story

by espark



Category: The Battle of Polytopia (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Polytopia, Romance, Yadakk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 01:29:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22007725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/espark/pseuds/espark
Summary: Nihat lead Sasha along the cracked road, the cold wind forcing him to tuck his fez into his coat. Sasha brayed in hunger as the sun set behind the Lytolyian Hills. He’d lost half his khamelk caravan to a sand storm in the Ooooluian Desert and the other half to a leoon attack in the Fields of Assa. All Nihat had left was Sasha and what trade goods she could carry. He had known it was a huge risk when he’d set out across the continent to trade with the Kickoo, but he also knew the biggest risks paid the biggest rewards. His gamble had failed.  Now he’d be lucky if he got back to Samkolül within the week with enough profit to pay his guild dues.Lit by the last rays of the setting sun, he noticed a sign in the market square that read “ULAPR.”His dread turned to optimism. The ULAPR meant crowds and revelry and, most of all, disposable income.
Kudos: 10





	Hunger, Haggling, and Honor: a Yădakk Story

**Author's Note:**

> The story was commissioned by Hazel(Prime Rogue) and paid for by Templar in United Tribes of Polytopia, UTOP.

Nihat lead Sasha along the cracked road, the cold wind forcing him to tuck his fez into his coat. Sasha brayed in hunger as the sun set behind the Lytolyian Hills. Nihat had lost half his khamelk caravan to a sand storm in the Ooooluian Desert and the other half to a leoon attack in the Fields of Assa. All he had left was Sasha and what trade goods she could carry. He had known it was a huge risk when he’d set out across the continent to trade with the Kickoo, but he also knew the biggest risks paid the biggest rewards. His gamble had failed. Now he’d be lucky if he got back to Samkolül within the week with enough profit to pay his guild dues.

Checking his map in the fading light, Nihat hoped he could make a decent score at the nearby village. He was running out of time. If he could sell some of the exotic items he’d collected from his journey, he could return to his grandmother without his expedition being a total loss.

As Nihat approached the dark collection of empty Yădakk huts, a shiver passed through him. A strand of cypress shuddered in the wind. Where was everyone? Had there been a battle? A plague? He’d been through the village a few months before, as he was setting out on his travels. This place had been alive with the smells of brewing ale and baking bread. Now there was nothing but chilly silence.

Lit by the last rays of the setting sun, he noticed a sign in the market square that read “ULAPR.”

His dread turned to optimism. The ULAPR meant crowds and revelry and, most of all, disposable income. If the adversary pageant was being held nearby, he could take advantage of the attendees’ bulging purses. He might even make enough to pay his guild dues and some of his debt.

Nihat turned back to find Sasha munching on a discarded burlap sack. Was there anything that animal wouldn’t eat? He tugged on the animal’s bridle, following the ULAPR signs along the road, past fertile fields waiting to be turned into farms and forests ready to be hunted.

It was well past dusk when Nihat saw the lights of the masquerade festival. As he drew closer, joyful bursts of drums and pipes mingled with boisterous voices. Then he saw the people moving between the tents, costumed revelers in feathered headdresses, white turbans, furred hoods, and animal pelts. Children jumped up and down waving wooden swords and brandishing shields. The smells of fresh strong coffee and roasting nuts made his mouth water. Outside the ring of colorful tents of the ULAPR fairgrounds, a banner stretched across the road, “Unworthy Lewd Adversary Pageant, Regionals.”

Nihat needed to find a spot to set up his wares. He needed to capitalize on the excitement and fat purses of the crowd before the pageant contestants walked the stage at midnight. He wandered the fairgrounds, buying a hooxe kabob and a flask of hot, strong coffee.

Then he saw the yellow stripes of the Azkan conglomerate and slumped down in disappointment. As usual, Azka had everything set up to be inviting and alluring. Bright torches mounted on poles made it easy to see the rows of polished bottles and carved totems. A bowl of smoking incense scented the air with a tang of cloves and jasmine. Banners hung under the torches, touting reinvigoration potions, lucky medallions, and love charms. 

Nihat closed his eyes and pushed away the disgust. Frauds like Azka made the whole merchant guild look bad. His grandmother said that as long as Azka’s customers were satisfied, there was nothing the guild could do to stop her from making huge profits by peddling empty promises.

“Nihat, is that you?” A tall woman wearing a tasseled fez and a smug smile called out to him.

“Hello, Azka. It looks like you’ve got a good spread,” Nihat said, preparing himself to ignore Azka’s not so subtle insults and unfounded boasting.

“You look awful. Did your khamelk chew you up and spit you out?”

Nihat ignored the jab and looked to the stage, “What’s the situation with the pageant? Are there many contestants?”

“The maximum, fourteen.”

“Really? I wouldn’t expect a little village like this to get to host regionals.”

“This place won’t be little for long. Did you see the farmland around this place? It’ll be a towering city before you can say ‘Look, a giant.’”

Three young women in sky blue robes and blue face paint approached the display and started inspecting the bottles labeled “Love potions.” Azka turned to the customers and beamed, “Today is your lucky day. I’m having a special adversary pageant discount. Buy one love potion and get an elixir of beauty for half off.”

The women tittered and handed over fistfuls of coins. Azka bowed and let them choose their purchases.

Nihat thought about the contest and the potential for profit. Once the customers stepped away, Nihat wondered out loud, “Fourteen contestants in the pageant means the maximum prize money, 1,400 marks. Maybe I should join the pageant.”

“Haha. Good one.” Azka barked out a laugh. “Your khamelk has a better chance than you.”

A pair of youths dashed by, one in a spiky tin hat waving a sword and another in green pointed cap aiming a toy bow. Nihat turned to see Sasha munching on discarded bird mask.

“Where is the rest of your caravan?” Azka asked, “Don’t tell me you lost them?”

Nihat hated to admit his failure and forced a smile. “I traded with some wild leoons at a deep discount, my life and one animal for all my wares.”

Azka winced, “Ooh. Bad luck. But surely your grandmother will give you a loan. She’s got deep pockets.”

“I can take care of myself.” Even if he was desperate enough to ask his grandmother for help, she would never bail him out. As head of the guild, Grandmatron Urkarktsa held her family to a higher standard than anyone else. 

“Why not work for me?” Azka asked. “I could use someone with your language skills.”

“Thanks, but I’m not out of the game yet.” 

Azka frowned and leaned in close, “You better not interfere with my profits tonight. I need to make a killing tonight to pay off my debts.”

“Don’t worry, Azka. I won't be able to compete with you. I only sell honest products.” 

Azka straightened up and lifted her chin, “Get out of my sight, and take your overgrown goat with you.”

Nihat took his khamelk and searched the fairgrounds for a spot to set up his wares. He passed sweet stands and coffee roasters, games of chance and fortune tellers, musicians and priests, but found no decent spots to set up his wares. He realized he’d arrived too late. Unless he wanted to try to sell his items from outside the fairgrounds, he’d have to find another way to earn a profit. 

He stood at the back of the contestants’ tent, trying to decide what to do next, when a shriek pierced his worries.

“Spit it out, you demon animal! That’s my costume, not your dinner.”

Azka whirled around to see Sasha chewing on a mouthful of yellow feathers. A furious young man in green robes and was reaching up to the beast’s mouth. The khamelk snapped at the man’s fingers.

“Ouch!”

“Haven’t you heard the saying, ‘Easier to take a rag from a khamelk’s mouth?’”

“But that is my headdress. I need it for the pageant,” the man in the green robes whined.

“You’re one of the contestants? Playing Kickoo, I take it?”

“Not if I don’t have my feathered headband.” The contestant sank down onto the edge of the stage and put his hands in his head. “How will I compete now?”

Nihat looked at what remained of the small yellow feathers in Sasha’s mouth. “Those weren’t island parrot feathers. They’re the wrong color and too small.”

“No, they were raven feathers that I bleached, but the color faded to a pale yellow. It was as good as I could get.”

“Well, you’re in luck because I have just returned from an expedition to the Kickoo coast and I have authentic parrot feathers for sale.”

The contestant perked up, blinking with hope. “You do?”

Nihat reached into one of the saddle bags and pulled out a satchel with an array of feathers. He fanned out the plumage, letting the iridescent greens and blues catch the fire light. The feathers had littered the Kickoo beaches. Yet, what were worthless castoffs so far away were marvelous treasures here. 

“Yes, and because my animal destroyed your headdress I’ll sell them to you at a discount. Only fifty marks.”

“Fifty? I don’t have that kind of money. I spent everything I had on my admission fee.” The man slumped back down.

Frustration gnawed at Nihat. He had to seize this opportunity. It was time for a different angle.

“What if we make a deal?” Nihat offered. “I’ll give you these, all natural, genuine island parrot feathers, the exact same feathers used in real Kickoo headbands, for a cut of your winnings.”

“How much of a cut?”

Nihat paused, doing some calculations. “Twenty percent.”

“That’s almost three hundred marks. You just said you’d sell them for fifty.” 

“But if you lose, I get nothing and you can keep them.”

“I’ll give you a hundred,” he paused and emphasized “only if I win.”

“How about a hundred and your endorsement?” Endorsements from a popular contestant could be worth hundreds, thousands if they won the finals. 

Nihat could see the young man was tempted. “Here.” He handed him one of the feathers. “Look at that. The real thing. Tell me it won’t make your costume look amazing.”

The contestant smiled, “Eh. What have I got to lose? You’ve got a deal, merchant.”

Nihat made the rounds, visiting each of the other contestants, seeing if he could sell them something to enhance their costumes. Not everyone was interested, nor did he have accessories that would suit every contestant. However the woman representing Zebasi paid him two hundred for a leon pelt and the bald man playing Ai-mo bought a string of turquoise beads. Some others bought small treasures from far away lands, not for their costumes, but as curiosities. All agreed to endorse him if they won.

Finally he approached the fourteenth contestant’s tent, the one representing Vengir. Nihat heard raised voices from inside. 

A shrill man’s voice argued, “No, I won’t let you go.”

A younger man’s voice retorted, “Pappa, please. I want to see the golden domes of the cathedral, smell the spices of the grand market, listen to the dervish spinners.”

Nihat paused. He knew that voice. It was Erel, the young man he’d met at the tavern the last time he was in town. Which meant the man he was arguing with was his father, the town mayor.

“No. It's not safe. Enemy tribes patrol the roads. You’d never make it.”

“I’m not a child anymore, Papa. You can’t keep me in this frozen armpit of a village.”

“No. You can walk the stage tonight, but you can’t go to Samkolül. That is my final word.”

A middle aged man stormed out of the tent. Erel stepped out, ready to follow his father to continue pressing his argument, the warm light silhouetting him from the tent.

Erel paused when he saw Nihat. “You heard all of that, didn’t you?”

Nihat shrugged. “Tents have thin walls.”

Erel was just as Nihat remembered, proud, with thick black hair that nearly covered his fiery brown eyes. His costume looked amazing. Black leather hugged his broad shoulders, accentuated his defined chest and his slim hips. A spiky metal helmet hung in his hand. What could Nihat offer him for the pageant? Nothing. Erel was perfect. 

Erel peered at Nihat, “You’re that ragged merchant offering baubles and beads to the other contestants for a cut of their winnings.”

Nihat didn’t know which hurt more, the word ragged or that Erel didn’t recognize him. He forced a salesman’s smile and said, “Maybe I could help you, too.”

“What’s the point? You heard my father. Even if I do win, he won’t allow me to go to Samkolül for the finals.”

“I’ll take you,” Nihat said impulsively.

“What?”

“If you win,” and Nihat was sure that he would, “I’ll take you with me to the capital for half your prize money.”

Erel beckoned, “Come inside.”

Nihat left Sasha outside and followed Erel into the warm glow of the tent. A brazier hung from the tent pole and the tang of citron oil lingered in the air. Crimson cushions littered the carpeted floor and a large lacquered chest sat next to an ornate, full length mirror.

The two men looked at each other, assessing, pondering, hoping.

“I remember you.” Erel said at last, “You’re Nihat, the traveling merchant. You were going all the way to the Kickoo coast. Did you make it?”

Pride lifted Nihat’s confidence, “I did. It was quite the adventure.”

“You still have your scouting permits to get past enemy lines?” Erel asked, a spark of an idea shining in his eyes.

Nihat pulled his sheaf of guild documents and his travel permits from his vest. “Of course.” 

Erel stepped closer to read them, then frowned. “These expire in a week.”

“By which time I will be back in the capital to renew them.” Of course, he’d need to funds to pay his dues too, but Erel didn’t need to know that.

“If I win, meet me at dawn at the crossroads. Get me out of town without anyone noticing and I’ll give you all my winnings and an endorsement.”

Nihat should have been suspicious of such generous offer, but he couldn’t resist. “Deal.”

Erel’s face brightened with an infectious grin and held out his hand. Nihat nodded, unable to keep the excited smile from his own face, and grasped Erel’s hand in his own.

“Deal,” Erel echoed.

They stood that way for a long moment, face to face, foolish smiles fading to soft admiration and then to burning wonder, unable to pull away.

A rustle outside the tent made them spring apart. 

Nihat turned to see Sasha chewing on the tent flap. He let out a sigh of relief and promised that as soon as he got to Samkolül, he would buy that animal a barrel of the best feed.

“I need to go,” Erel said. “The judging will begin soon.”

“Good luck, not that you’ll need it. You look marvelous.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll see you at the crossroads at dawn.”

At midnight, the contestants walked the stage, Xin-xi, Kickoo, Zebasi, and all the rest. The crowd jeered each in turn, some using toy bows or catapults to launch projectiles at the stage. When Erel took the stage, his jet black costume and polished helmet were stunning, simultaneously reflecting the light and drinking it in. Erel played his role beautifully, jabbing his club, scowling, and cursing at the crowd. He got the biggest boos and easily won the pageant. 

Nihat let out a long yawn. He’d been on his feet most of the day and he needed to get some rest if he was going to meet Erel at dawn. He slipped back to the outskirts of the fairgrounds and settled Sasha down behind a strand of cypress. He managed to get a few restless hours of sleep, dozing against the large animal’s side, before the first purple rays of dawn streaked the sky.

In the chilly predawn air, Nihat led Sasha back to the crossroads at the deserted village. He waited by the ULAPR sign, stamping his feet and rubbing his hands together for warmth.

Then a figure in black rushed towards him from one of the quiet huts. Nihat tensed but then recognized Erel’s broad shoulders and confident stride.

“You were amazing. I knew you’d win,” Nihat said.

Erel reached into his jacket and held out a clinking pouch. “The prize money, as I promised.”

Nihat tucked the purse away and said, “Right. Let’s go. You climb up first,” gesturing for him to mount Sasha.

Before Erel could take hold of the saddle, a deep voice called out. “Stop!”

Then torches flared out of the dark huts and Erel’s father stepped forward, Azka following on his heels. Several Yădakk warriors flanked them, their weapons held ready.

“I didn’t want to believe it, but you were right,” the mayor said, turning to Azka. He dropped several coins into Azka’s outstretched palm. Then he turned to Erel, “Son, go home.” Finally, he narrowed his eyes at Nihat, “And you have two minutes to leave this town or I’ll have my warriors stick you like a rhino-pig.”

Erel stood up tall, “I’m leaving, Pappa. With him or on my own. You can’t keep me here like a prisoner.”

The mayor’s tone changed, less angry and more worried. “The roads are not safe. Imperius wait in ambush along the southern roads and the Vengir patrol the northern mountains. Even if you make it to the capital, that city will swallow you alive. Pickpockets, filthy streets, con artists, and swindlers on every corner.”

Interst’s tone softened too, “Nihat has travel immunity. The other tribes won’t bother us under the scouting colors. And Samkolül won’t eat me, although this khalmelk might.”

“You have scouting colors?” the mayor asked.

Nihat spoke up. “Yes. As a traveling merchant, I am afforded the same safe passage as a scout. And when we get to the capital, I can help keep him safe. I know the city, its dangers and who to trust.”

The chief looked at him more closely. “Who in the square are you?”

“He’s nobody.” Azka disparaged, “A merchant who can’t even afford his guild dues. A gambler and wanderer.”

Nihat narrowed his eyes and said proudly, “My grandmother is, Grandmatron Urkarktsa, head of the merchants’ guild and my father is, Berberar, the second priest of the Golden Cathedral. It’s true I take risks, but I’m honest, which is more than I can say of some of my fellow guild members.” 

Nihat pulled out his guild documentation, still legitimate for the next few days, and handed them to the mayor.

The older man scanned the documents, his brow furrowed, then looked at his son, “Is this what you really want?”

“It is, Pappa.”

“Then, go, with my blessing, and represent our region with pride at the pageant finals.”

Erel bowed low to his father who promptly took his son into his arms, holding him tight, as if he was squeezing juice from a khizuz. Then the mayor let go and handed Nihat back the sheaf of papers.

As Erel and Nihat rode Sasha past the ULAPR sign now dangling from the signpost, the sun rose over the Plains of Kolu. The air was dry and sharp in the growing dawn. They rode by clusters of cypress, the road ahead beckoning them through the steppes towards the capital.

As they rounded a bend beside a fallow field, Nihat reached into his vest. “Here,” he said, reaching over the khamelk’s hump to hand Erel the pouch of prize money. As much as it pained him to return the coin, it was the right thing to do.

Erel twisted around in the saddle, “What? Why are you giving me the money back?”

“I didn’t keep my end of the deal. We got caught.”

“But don’t you need it to pay your guild dues?”

Nihat shrugged, “I’m a man of honor. I won’t take money I didn’t earn.”

Erel nodded and took the money. Nihat slumped down in the saddle. Now what would he do? He had no way to pay his guild dues, let alone purchase supplies for a new caravan. He hated the idea of giving up his travels, but he’d find some other job in the city. Maybe he’d join the navy. They were always looking to put people on boats.

After a few minutes, Erel twisted back and held out the purse. “I’d like to invest in your next expedition. I get ten percent of the profits and…” 

Nihat’s heart raced. He didn’t care what Erel was going to say. He’d agree to anything to get that seed money.

Erel glanced down and swallowed hard, then continued, “...and the option of joining you on your travels.”

Nihat took the purse, took Erel's hand, and smiled. “Deal.”


End file.
